Hot Button: Just a Juggalo

Seattle’s Northwest Folklife Festival isn’t the kind of event where trouble is expected. Since 1972, it has been a start-of-summer gathering, drawing a mellow, free-spirit crowd to the Seattle Center. Families with young children share lawn space with hippies, listening to everything from Ukrainian folk music to fiddlers and blues musicians.

Yet last year, trouble came. On Saturday, May 23, the second night of the event, some festival attendees noticed a group of young men whose dark clothing and clown makeup—sinister rather than playful—made them stand out. One of those who watched the clowns was a Shoreline teenager, perched on a railing near the base of the Space Needle, chatting up some girls. He watched as the clowns began hassling a man. When the harassment turned physical, the 15-year-old stepped up and intervened, but found himself under attack: He was punched in the face at least a half-dozen times, grabbed in a headlock and thrown to the ground. The teen’s jaw was broken in several places. He later told police officers that the clowns “were part of a Juggalos gang,” according to a Seattle police report.  Earlier that same month, two 12-year-old boys sitting outside a grocery store in Puyallup were robbed by three men who threatened to break one boy’s jaw. At least one of the men, who was later charged in the crime, told investigators that he was a Juggalo. In another incident on July 15, a Tacoma woman was bound with duct tape, beaten by four teenagers and a 20-year-old man, and robbed. Police found the woman bleeding from a bad head wound, pieces of tape scattered on the floor around her. She told the officers that as the attack began, the one adult in the group told her, “I’m a Juggalo. I have to do this,” according to court documents filed in Pierce County Superior Court.

Incidents like these, and similar ones across the country, have made Juggalos synonymous with violence and trouble.

With their clown makeup, hand signals and clothing—which often includes baggy black pants festooned with multiple zippers, straps, buckles and chains—Juggalos aren’t about blending in, but about standing out. They’re devoted fans of the Detroit-based rap duo Insane Clown Posse, more often known as ICP, whose music has been described as horror-core rap with lyrics both vulgar and violent. The duo, Violent J and Shaggy 2 Dope, performs in white and black clown makeup, a look widely imitated by Juggalos and Juggalettes.

The enormously popular ICP, which released its first album in 1992, is more than just an act: It has a record label, Psychopathic Records, sells clothing under the Hatchetgear label, sponsors (and engages in) semi-pro wrestling and the annual Gathering of the Juggalos event, drawing thousands of fans.

Recognizing that some people blame their music for fan violence, ICP’s Web site (insaneclownposse.com) includes a statement that says they “use their Insane Clown personas to reflect on the insane world around them, and this world is indeed filled with violence. Their music is an expression of their experiences and ideas, and a reaction to violent emotions, not an endorsement of the violence itself.”

Still, some in law enforcement, both locally and around the country, believe that there are Juggalo gangs; in Washington state, a gang is legally defined as three or more people who use a common set of symbols or signs and frequently engage in criminal behavior. “ICP has been around for quite a while, but the followers are becoming more and more hardcore,” says gang expert Gabe Morales of the Des Moines–based Gang Prevention Services. “It’s a relatively new phenomenon that they’re developing into gangs.” Recently, just before making a gang-awareness presentation at a local Job Corps site, Morales was confronted by a Juggalette who was offended that her group was being described as gang-related.

“She said, ‘We’re not a gang. We’re a family,’” Morales recounts. “I said, ‘Well, just because you listen to ICP doesn’t make you a criminal.…But if you’re committing crimes, throwing gang signs, then you might be a gang.’ She agreed with me there.”

At 35, Kris Tarnow of Puyallup is older than the average Juggalo, who tends to be a teen or young adult. But Tarnow, who became a fan when he first heard ICP in the early 1990s, believes most of the problems attributed to Juggalos are caused by a few malcontents he calls “mall Juggalos.”

“They’re the ones that hang out at the mall. They feel they have to stand out. All the Juggalos I know and hang out with, they’re all pretty responsible,” says Tarnow, who is married. Burly and tattooed (a pair of clown tattoos, of course), Tarnow notes that the Juggalo look helps fans connect with each other. “You could just be walking and pass someone in the street and they’re wearing ICP gear. Suddenly, they’re like an old friend you haven’t seen in years,” Tarnow says. “It’s kind of cool. You don’t get that from hardly any groups.”

In Seattle, Juggalos can be spotted sporting the signature Hatchetgear clothing, flashing hand signs (a “‘w” and a “c” for “wicked clown”) or downing a can of their soda pop of choice, Faygo. But shows are what really bring them out, and that means they regularly turn up at El Corazon on Eastlake Avenue. “We host a lot of Juggalo shows,” says Dana Sims, who owns the popular nightclub that sits right up against Interstate 5.

And Juggalos, he adds, are particularly devoted fans. “If there’s a Juggalo show, they’re here at 8 in the morning and they hang out all day,” Sims says.

The fans arrive pumped for the show, many of them in the clown makeup that others find so creepy. Of course, in the case of criminal activity involving Juggalos or alleged Juggalos, that makeup has proven a bane for law enforcement. In a police report on the incident at Folklife, for example, the officer noted, “The victim could not give a good description of the suspects because they were wearing makeup.”

The makeup isn’t about hiding behind a disguise, but rather being part of a group, contends Tarnow, who dons the makeup for any concert he attends. “That’s a lot of the fun,” he says, “being alike, but different.” He knows, though, that the makeup is one reason people shun and fear Juggalos. A few years ago, he and his friends piled into an SUV in full Juggalo regalia for a concert in Portland. On the road, they stopped at a small market for some soda—and surprised the clerks. “They were just horrified,” Tarnow says. “I have to admit, it was pretty funny.”

Despite the Juggalo-related problems elsewhere around the Sound, Seattle police aren’t overly concerned about them and don’t officially consider them a gang. “Lately, I don’t think we’ve had any dealings with them,” Seattle public information officer and detective Mark Jamieson says. One reason may be that most Juggalo groups tend to form in the suburbs. “It’s definitely a rural white or suburban phenomenon,” Sims says.

Tarnow’s hangouts over the years have been in areas far from Seattle, such as Olympia, Rochester or his hometown of Puyallup. “I rarely see any Juggalos in Seattle,” Tarnow says. “There’s a lot more following in the smaller towns.” Morales agreed, saying that the suburbs are where you tend to find disaffected youths who don’t have as many outlets to express themselves as teens in a large urban area. He knows of active Juggalo groups in the city of Bellingham, as well as Pierce and Yakima counties, and greater King County.

Sims believes most Juggalos are harmless. “It’s just the visual intimidation,” he says. “Just like any punk show or any metal show or any other genre, they’re always a few bad apples, and those couple of bad apples make it very easy to generalize that this whole crowd is bad.”

Nevertheless, Morales cautions parents to look for signs their kids are joining the ranks of the Juggalos. “They may be just liking the music,” he says. “Or they may be engaging in criminal acts or some behaviors that could be self-destructive.”

But Tarnow says there’s no reason to be afraid: “Everybody was young once. I don’t think people remember that they were young once, too.”

Originally published in March 2010

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